


Empty

by GlassRose



Series: A Less Dangerous Fortune [1]
Category: A Dangerous Fortune (2016 TV movie)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Giving Birth, M/M, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Suicide Attempt, and introspection, i don't know if I'd call it a fix-it, i just want to believe abuse victims can get better, sort of a "what-if", there is sex but it's not a very smutty fic so consider yourself warned, warning tags!, we got
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRose/pseuds/GlassRose
Summary: It had to be easy, right? Simple. Dying wasn't something one strived to do, just something you let happen. Mickey swallowed. His worthless life would be over soon. "Think of all the things I've done to you," he said softly, like he'd spoken to Edward in bed, because surely that would make him angry enough to do it.Edward nodded, a strange half-smile gracing his face.Mickey took two final steps toward him. His eyes burned. He was ready for this, but his body fought it. "So now, destroy it." He offered a small smile. "Please," he whispered.But Edward just gave him a horrible, manic grin and pointed the gun away, slowly moving his arm toward himself. By the time Mickey realized what he was doing, it was almost too late.He could let it happen. He would be free. He could go home, or he could run away, or he could go home, steal a lot of money, and then run away and become someone else. Run somewhere his father could never find him.He could let it happen. How bad could it be to watch the one person who knew you blow their brains out while you stood there?He didn't let it happen.
Relationships: Edward Pilaster/Mickey Miranda
Series: A Less Dangerous Fortune [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966195
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> I swear they said Chile in the show/movie, I saw Venezuela somewhere, and I was using a free trial so I can't go back and watch it. In my defense, I don't think the show was particularly thoughtful about the South American country they were using as a plot device. :/
> 
> I have not read the book. It looks very different. This is strictly based on the German tv movie. I am aware that we get more insight into Mickey in the book that makes him pretty solidly irredeemable but that is not what I took away from the movie. If nothing else, the writers changing his ending managed to change his character significantly.

Success had never felt so empty. Mickey Miranda had one friend in the world if he had any, and that friend had a gun to his head.

He'd slept with him to please his father--his father who would disown him if he knew, but not before beating the hell out of him, maybe killing him. He had nothing. He had no one. He'd abused and mistreated so many people in his life, passing on the cruelty from his father, and though he'd stopped being violent to women, even working girls, about seven years prior, what difference did it make? That he'd changed? No. He'd slept with his only friend to force him to ruin himself, after, of course, a six-year affair with Edward's monster of a mother. Mickey was the exact same bastard who was willing to destroy Samuel's life over the same morally neutral sort of thing he engaged in himself, all the time. For money. For power. To please his cruel father. Sometimes just for pleasure.

Sometimes. And not once for love.

"Shoot," he ordered. Because if Edward had finally grown a pair and was willing to go this far, to make this threat, Mickey didn't even know what his own life was worth now. He couldn't go home. Edward would expose him. And now, Edward was the one person who knew everything about him, and it appeared his judgment was that Mickey was not worth sparing.

He had slept with Florence, had been gentle and giving and made sure she got hers. She might get pregnant. She might not. But in the clarity after the act, utter exhaustion had overtaken him. There was a gaping void where a soul should be.

Nothing worth keeping.

Edward's face was stone. Mickey couldn't stand it. "Shoot!" he shouted, but Edward did not. Mickey approached him. Something had to happen. Maybe if Edward killed him, at least he could have some kind of life after all this. At least he'd learn a valuable lesson about not trusting people just because you want to fuck them.

It had to be easy, right? Simple. Dying wasn't something one strived to do, just something you let happen. He swallowed. His worthless life would be over soon. "Think of all the things I've done to you," he said softly, like he'd spoken to Edward in bed, because surely that would make him angry enough to do it.

Edward nodded, a strange half-smile gracing his face.

Mickey took two final steps toward him. His eyes burned. He was ready for this, but his body fought it. "So now, destroy it." He offered a small smile. "Please," he whispered.

But Edward just gave him a horrible, manic grin and pointed the gun away, slowly moving his arm toward himself. By the time Mickey realized what he was doing, it was almost too late.

He could let it happen. He would be free. He could go home, or he could run away, or he could go home, steal a lot of money, and  _ then  _ run away and become someone else. Run somewhere his father could never find him.

He could let it happen. How bad could it be to watch the one person who knew you blow their brains out while you stood there?

He didn't let it happen. With a will he wasn't entirely sure was his own, he flung himself forward and somehow, by the grace of a god he didn't care about, knocked the pistol out of Edward's hand before he could pull the trigger. It clattered across the floor. Edward dived for it, and Mickey grabbed him around the waist, trying to drag him back. "Don't you dare!" he snarled. "You bloody coward."

Edward elbowed him in the face and struggled out of his grip. "Go to hell!"

"Send me there yourself then!" Mickey growled, lunging around so he was between Edward and the pistol, which had skidded under a chair. Edward leapt on him, knocking him to the floor, and punched him in the face.

"You will see what you've done," he spat, and he tried to get up, but Mickey locked his legs around Edward's waist.

"I know what I've done! You're really such a coward you'd take the easy way out? You had a pistol at the head of the man who toyed with your affections half your life and used it to ruin you and fucked your mother and your wife and instead you point it at yourself?" There was a strong possibility that this was not helping, but for once Mickey didn't know what to say or do, he just needed Edward to stop reaching for the pistol.

Edward screamed and grabbed Mickey's throat. Manic rage took over, and Mickey couldn't breathe. His vision swam. He tried to hit Edward's arms but the angle gave him no force. Finally, in desperation, he loosened his legs and landed a gut punch. It wasn't hard, but it was enough for Edward to lose his grip and gasp, giving Mickey time to clumsily flip him onto his back and sit on him. As cool air filled his lungs, the world settled.

"I hate you," Edward said.

"You...should," Mickey croaked out. He wasn't strong enough to keep him down after being strangled, so he did the only thing he could think of to stop Edward from shoving him off. He kissed him. One of the things he'd withheld, promising it and more after Edward obtained the signature.

Edward stilled, just for a moment. Then he pushed Mickey back and smacked him.

Mickey could take a hit, having been beaten more times than he could ever remember, but Edward didn't hit him again, so he moved back in. He didn't have a plan for once, couldn't think past his only goal of stopping Edward from killing himself.

Caring about someone was horrible. Mickey wished he were dead. Tragically, that didn't seem to be in the cards tonight, not if he wanted to make sure Edward survived the next few hours. He kept kissing him, pushing his tongue against Edward's lips until Edward let him in, then he wrapped his arms around Edward's neck and let Edward sit up, not letting him go. Someone could come in. Someone would see them and Edward would kill himself anyway. And then Mickey would follow, because at that point removing himself from the world would be the best thing for everyone.

Then Edward turned his head and Mickey opened his eyes to see Florence staring at them. She looked confused, then hurt, then thoughtful.

"Get out," Edward spat.

She shut the door behind her. "What game are you playing?" she asked quietly. "Should I resign myself to whatever nightmare you've cooked up or should I expect to purchase a larger bed?" She pointed at Edward. "Did you ask your friend to come to me?"

"No," Mickey said. "No."

"Then why?"

Edward pressed his forehead into Mickey's neck, and Mickey stroked his hair. "She wanted a granddaughter," Mickey confessed. He was so tired. He couldn't be a good person, so he had to save Edward, because even if Edward was corruptible and weak, he was better than Mickey, and that was something. That had to be something. He had to do something more than pass on his father's cruelty before he died.

It shouldn't have taken seeing Edward pointing a gun to his head to make him realize it.

"I am surrounded by snakes," Florence declared.

"As if you did not happily surrender to one," Mickey retorted, and Edward's nails dug into his back. If not for all the layers of clothing, it might have hurt.

Maybe it should. He deserved it.

"Someone's coming down the stairs," Florence said, and Mickey dragged Edward to a chair. Before Augusta came in, he secured the pistol and stashed it in his bag, to Florence's bugged out eyes.

"I heard raised voices," she said, her eyes flicking from her ashen-faced son to her expressionless daughter-in-law to her ex-lover, who was sporting a pained smile. It was all he had.

"I apologize," Florence said quickly. "We were having a rather lively discussion. We didn't mean to wake you."

The look on her face said she didn't believe a word Florence said, but Mickey was watching Edward closely. He might spill everything.

Maybe he should.

"Perhaps you should leave, Mr. Miranda," Augusta said. "It is quite late."

"I'm quite certain Mr. Miranda won't mind sleeping in the spare room," Florence cut in. She was so bold all of a sudden. Learning what it feels like to have a tongue on her clitoris must have made her wonder what else she could get from the world if she asked for it. "I will see to it. Your rest won't be disturbed again."

Maybe Edward could be kept in line by Florence now. But Mickey doubted it. Augusta narrowed her eyes at him and he plastered a pleasant smile on. At last she nodded to Florence. "I suppose you'll be the lady of the house someday," she said, not half as coldly as expected, and went back upstairs.

"Get out of my house," Edward said after a long silence.

"Or what?" Mickey countered, his body aching with fatigue.

"What has he done to make you so angry?" Florence asked. "It can't be… You can't be angry with us for… Not after what I just saw. Why did you have a pistol?"

"He's ruined us," Edward said.

"No one has to know--"

"Not the  _ sex. _ Our wealth. The bank. He's ruined us for his father's coup. He's been fucking Mother for years. He--" Edward's face tightened further, somehow.

"Say it," Mickey ordered. "Say it. Tell her."

"He knows the only thing I've ever really wanted is…" Edward turned his head deliberately and gave Mickey the most contemptuous, hateful look he'd ever received from anyone but his father. "Him. Gave it to me only when he needed one last thing from me. Only so he could use me. Like he uses everyone."

"You use people," Florence said, surprising even herself. "You might have warned me your affections would never be mine before we were married, that you would never even give me children, but you never thought of my feelings. And you," she continued, turning to Mickey. "You'd ruin us for a man who beats you? People think I don't see things. When he's here, blood and bruises. When he's across the sea, it all heals up. Your loyalty to him is insane. It is not as if you have nothing good inside. I watched you stop that man from mistreating his child. But you two are snakes and you deserve each other. I am going back to my bed while I still have one. Find your own room or lie between us. I do not care." She left, shutting the door behind her.

"Leave," Edward said. "Get out. It would be so easy. I'm ruined in every way. You go home with everything your father asked for." He laughed hysterically. "You can even take my wife! I won't be able to tell anyone everything you did. She won't betray you either; it's evident you please her in ways I can't."

"I can't let you," Mickey said. He was nothing but a vessel for his father's cruelty, but he could fight it long enough to make this right. No, not right--but he could stop Edward from committing suicide. "You want vengeance?" He retrieved the gun and set it in Edward's hand, holding his wrist tight with both hands and kneeling before him. "Pull the trigger now, or not at all."

He heard the pistol cock, felt the barrel against his forehead, and shut his eyes.

"You're a monster," Edward said.

"Yes," Mickey agreed.

"I hate you."

"Please," Mickey whispered, his own utter hypocrisy and cowardice not escaping him.

But Edward did not shoot. "Get up," he said, defeated, and Mickey took the pistol back and emptied the chambers. The chair was wide and Edward was skinny, so Mickey wedged himself half-beside him, half on his lap, and took Edward in his arms. "Would you take it back, if you could? The bonds, I mean," Edward asked, leaning against his shoulder as Mickey stared at the wall.

"I would," Mickey said. It was probably a lie, but his own soul wasn't important. Making sure Edward survived the night was all that mattered right now.

"Yet you worked so hard for it."

"I thought I could get his respect. Or I would have some power and he couldn't...but all I've done is pass on his cruelty," he said, and what a strange feeling to speak it out loud.

"Tell me you love me."

"I don't love anybody. I never have. There is not enough inside me for that." He didn't want to unload these things onto Edward, didn't even want him to know, but he was out of plans, out of ideas, and at least being truthful would keep Edward interested, keep him from going for the pistol.

"Then why stop me?"

Slow down. Draw it out. Keep him alive. "Because with everyone else it is a power game. You are--"

"It was a power game with me."

"It was...something. It was--you're my friend."

"Did you hurt Florence?"

"I stopped doing that a long time ago." Mickey leaned into Edward and ran his fingers through his hair again. "I am not a good person. And so, I cannot let you die."

"Coward."

"Yes," Mickey acknowledged.

"Yesterday, all I was worth to you was a forged signature."

No one knew him like Edward, which in practice meant no one knew him at all. The walls he'd put up between himself and everyone else came easily. Masks, easy smiles, cruelty, punches, kisses, lies, manipulations, anything necessary to survive the interaction or get what he needed from them. But with Edward he'd always worked harder to put distance between them. Edward was easy enough to read, and the moment Mickey indicated he would not react badly to sexual overtures, he'd made no secret of his interest.

Mickey had used it. Had used it quite a lot, and encouraged his interest with words, with touch, with meaningful glances, and then used working girls as a wall between them, all the while demanding Edward's attention. Because he was cruel. Because it made him feel good to be wanted. Because he wanted Edward's attention very badly and was afraid to let him know it. Letting Edward realize the kind of power he could have was much too dangerous when Mickey needed him to keep following like a puppy.

When they were pressed together naked, when he'd had Edward squeezed between his thighs, he'd let himself forget briefly why he was really there. Now he was paying for it.

"If that were true, I would have left."

"Shut your mouth. You don't love anyone but yourself."

"Edward," Mickey said, exhausted, "what in the world would give you the notion that I have ever loved myself?" He wanted to explain. He wanted to say that he was a fool and only when he realized what he'd driven his only friend to had he been forced to face what he'd been hiding from. His own emptiness. His own utter lack of values. How he reacted to things emotionally with nothing to ground him, how, without any sense of right and wrong, he had become obsessed with pleasing his father just to prove it was possible. How the thrill of conquering someone, one way or another, was practically the only other thing he knew how to chase, and maybe that was the real reason he'd saved Edward for later. If ever he could not find the rush of victory over someone else, at least there would be Edward, easy, desperate, wanting.

Edward should have killed him.

Maybe he would yet. Maybe he would kill Mickey and then he'd be strong, he'd be better, he'd be powerful and loved by his family. That was something to hope for.

"Come to bed with me. Let me hold you."

"Bastard," Edward said, but he didn't resist much as Mickey tugged him upright and into his bedroom. He threw the bullets out the window and took Edward's shoes off, undressing him first before taking his own outer clothes off. The more vulnerable Edward was, the easier it would be to control him.

To keep him safe from himself, rather.

He locked the door and wrapped himself around Edward's back. "Try to sleep. It will be easier in the morning." He tried to lean over to kiss him, but Edward hissed, "No," and that was only fair, wasn't it.

Despite everything, Mickey did doze off, the exhaustion of his entire life catching up to him hard.

He woke, and Edward wasn't in his arms. He jerked up to see Edward rifling through his bag. The bullets were scattered in the garden, but maybe there were more, maybe Edward had hidden them, and now he had the pistol, and Mickey was only half-awake, and all he could do was say, "Please. Please don't do this."

Edward turned around, his face a mask of hatred, and then he blinked, taken aback. The air felt strangely cool on Mickey's face and he touched his cheek. His fingertips came away wet.

He hadn't cried in front of anyone since he was a small child and had learned that Papa would punish him for his tears. They were pouring now.

"I'll give it all to you, everything I have, I'll go home and take it and give it back to you," he babbled. "I was--it was a mistake, I--you're all I have." This was a nightmare. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't stop crying and he was talking about his feelings, he was being vulnerable to someone who wanted to hurt him. He wished Edward had just shot him last night.

Edward stood up. Loomed over him. Clenched his hand into a fist and drew it back. Mickey cringed like a dog. Like a little boy still afraid of his father. He closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

It never came.

"If I'm all you have," Edward said, his voice trembling, "then why?"

Mickey opened his eyes. "I…" He dug his nails into his palms until they hurt. "I wanted him to respect me. I wanted him to love me." He took a deep breath. It hurt. "I was afraid of you. I had to burn everything between us to protect myself. I did not realize I couldn't live with myself until you… I can't be a good person, Eduardo. I never have been. But that would be too much to bear." If he were to live a hundred more years, he would still prefer not to admit this level of vulnerability, of weakness.

And yet.

As sick as he felt, the strange, mortifying act of being open with someone he cared about was almost exhilarating.

Edward searched his face. "You were afraid of us?"

"I don't know," Mickey said.

Edward sat down beside him. "If you'd said yes, I wouldn't have believed you. What else are you hiding?"

Everything. Nothing. Everything that swirled around the edges of the emptiness inside. "I killed him. Your grandfather. Augusta helped me cover it up. She wanted to clear the way for you to take over the bank." He looked at his hands. One of his nails had pierced the skin, making a crescent of blood well up and ooze slowly from his palm.

"I'm tired of being the fool," Edward finally said.

Mickey almost envied him. Maybe it was easier to be the fool than the monster. Edward lay down and Mickey followed him, tucking himself against Edward and resting a hand on his chest.

"Do you think she was right?" Edward asked.

"Who?"

"Florence. When she said we deserved each other."

Mickey lifted his head, looked at him, and shook his head. "You deserve better than me." He gave Edward a tight smile and laid his head on his shoulder. A drop of blood from his palm had stained Edward's night shirt. It might get bigger if he left his hand there, but he didn't want to let go. At least if he were still, the damage would be contained.

His face was still red and puffy, he was certain, but the last of the tears were drying on his cheeks or soaking into Edward's shirt. The stairs creaked. People were moving about the house.

"We should go," Mickey whispered. "We should get out of here. I'll take you home, we'll take what we need and go off on our own. We'll escape our families, we'll be free of them. Your father doesn't want you. I do."

"And when you're done with me? You said it yourself, you've never loved anyone. I am all you have, but you hurt me, and what if you someday have someone else?"

"I don't want to have someone else," Mickey said, his chest aching. "Caring for you is too much already, but I do, so now I must keep you and only you." He lifted his head and brushed his nose against Edward's. "I can't fix this, but let me try." His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Let me try, or you should have killed me last night."

Edward held his gaze for what felt like an eternity before he nodded, and that was a relief. Mickey sat up and pulled him to his feet. They dressed and quickly packed a bag for Edward while Mickey slipped out and ordered a carriage readied. Augusta caught him on his way back to Edward's room.

"It's done," he said quietly. He'd slept with Florence for her, after all. To please her. To keep up his end of things, he'd probably have to continue doing it until--

"Clara's with child."

Mickey blinked. "Then you don't need me anymore."

"I have never needed you," she said coldly. He'd hurt her, but she deserved it. "You are an amusement. A child. Nothing more." She frowned. "Where did you sleep?"

"The guest room."

"Which one?"

"The one I--"

"Which one's bed did you sleep in last night?"

"The only one I've ever been in," Mickey retorted. "The only one I would ever want to be in. Insult me once more, Mrs. Pilaster. Excuse me." He offered her a sardonic bow and swept past her to sneak back into Edward's room.

They avoided Augusta and boarded the carriage. "Take us to the docks," Edward ordered. As they started to move, a woman shouted, "Stop!" and they both peered out the door.

Florence ran toward them with a bag in hand. "I'm coming with my husband," she announced, handing her bag to the coachman. She held her hand out and Edward reluctantly took it to help her into the carriage.

"You should stay," he said.

"No," she replied. "You're leaving for good, aren't you? Both of you? What if I have a child?"

The horses started moving again. Mickey winced. He hadn't actually thought beyond the requested act. Having a child would mean… He wanted to believe he was not his father, but if he had someone small he could hit who couldn't hit him back, what if he became his father?

The thought was disturbing. "You won't," he said, ordering the universe to bend to his needs.

"You can't know that. We can only wait and see."

She was right, and Mickey was going to be a nervous wreck until she bled again.

They made it to the docks and piled into an upper deck cabin on a boat bound for San Antonio, Chile. Attempts were being made to build a canal through Panama, but for now, they would have to skirt Cape Horn. There were two beds in the cabin. The three runaways stared at them for a minute before Florence set her bag beside the single one, which was likely for a child.

"Well," Florence said. "I suppose we're hiding until we cast off, but I brought this." She opened her bag and pulled out a napkin, which she unwrapped to reveal a pile of scones.

They hadn't eaten since last night, any of them. The last time they had had food was before Mickey slept with Florence, before Edward had tried to put a bullet in his own head. The empty pistol was still in Mickey's bag.

He took a scone and passed it to Edward, who stared at it. Florence had no such reservations and ate one right away. Edward seemed stuck, so Mickey kissed his cheek. He looked irritated, but he started eating the scone. With that taken care of, Mickey started in on one of his own.

By the grace of hell, the boat departed and they weren't pursued. Mickey threw the pistol over the side once they were out to sea. Florence worked on drawing the view of the ship outside their cabin door, and Edward lay in bed, sulking.

Mickey stood at the railing, thinking. He could have had Edward before. He could have had him, could have jerked him around any way he wanted, without fucking over his family and giving Mr. Miranda what he wanted. Now he had lost the ability to pretend to himself that he didn't want Edward, and lost his power over him at the same time. Now he was the one who had to sit at Edward's feet like a sad puppy and hope for a pat on the head. It was pathetic. It was humiliating.

It was better. Somehow, losing his pull over Edward and reversing their roles made Edward significantly more interesting. Seducing him once had been so easy that he'd made a bit of a production of it just for fun. Not that the sex hadn't been fun itself. Edward's utter inexperience had made it very easy to please him, and he'd been eager to please right back. Once Mickey had shown him some options, he'd jumped right in.

Seducing him a second time was going to take the kind of work Mickey had very little experience in. Honesty. Remorse. Humbling himself sincerely.

The first few nights at sea were peaceful. They moved steadily southwest toward Brazil. The ninth night brought them closer to Cape Horn, and the temperature dropped as the storms moved in. It was a journey Mickey was familiar with, and the cape often had rough seas, but Edward and Florence were not so comfortable with it. Mickey woke up shortly after falling asleep with Edward clinging to his back as the ship rocked. Florence looked stricken and shivered. He beckoned her over. She frowned only briefly before bringing her blanket over. They huddled close, bodies pressed tight, legs tangled, waiting out the storm and chill of the night. Edward's hot breath warmed the back of Mickey's neck, and he pressed a soft kiss to the back of Florence's without really thinking about it. It wasn't as if Edward had asked him  _ not _ to sleep with his wife again.

The ship made it round the horn and into smoother waters. Florence returned from the powder room the next afternoon and quietly told them she was evidently not with child. Mickey nearly collapsed in relief. "I have a husband," she said. "You would not be assumed to be the father."

"Unless the baby had a darker complexion or...or if it were known that your husband's proclivities do not include women."

"The husband is sitting right here," Edward said.

"Yes, and the very beautiful husband should not be expected to raise a child his fri--his…" Mickey didn't know what to call the relationship they had now, so he just waved his hand at himself. "...brought into the world."

"Very beautiful?" Edward said, guarded but certainly amused. Mickey had discovered that flattery still pleased him and was making great use of this information.

"Very," Mickey confirmed, leaning in close.

"No."

Mickey backed away. Edward's whims being the order of the day was part of this brave new world, he supposed. He was starting to enjoy it.

He blew a kiss to Edward anyway.

The morning before they reached the port, anxiety set in and Mickey did not want to get out of bed. Down the gangplank and a half day's carriage ride away was his father. He had to face him in order to clear out his own account, but he didn't want to.

Logically, this was stupid. He'd done what Mr. Miranda wanted, but then again, he'd probably find a reason to be angry anyway. Someone would find out he'd brought Edward and Florence. Florence alone he could fake, he could say she was his fiance, but Edward--well. It was possible that his father had some notion as to why his son spent so much time with the "weak, girlish boy" he held in such contempt, aside from his usefulness as a pathway to the bank's money.

He could have created a child with Florence, and having to look at his own father and see himself reflected was the last thing he wanted right now.

"Time to wake up," Edward said, shaking him. He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to see his father. He didn't want to be in Santiago at all. "Mickey," Edward whispered in his ear, and he turned his head. Edward's eyes flicked down to Mickey's lips, and he closed the few inches between them. It was the first time Edward had let Mickey kiss him since that awful night. It was brief, but it was nice.

This was going to be a terrible day, but, for Edward, he could do it. He would do it.

He cleaned up and dressed, and they gathered anything that had drifted about the cabin.

They ate breakfast and disembarked around mid-morning. Mickey put Edward and Florence up in a hotel room for a few days and chartered a carriage to Santiago.

"We'll be waiting for you," Florence said, and Edward touched his cheek.

"You're better than him," was all Edward said, which was extremely generous in Mickey's estimation.

It wasn't the worst possible reunion. Carlos was very pleased about the bonds and had already set the plans for the coup in motion. And that, Mickey couldn't fix and wasn't sure he wanted to, but he could at least make off with a substantial amount of money. "You should have said you were coming, my boy. I would have prepared for you."

"I had to leave London right away. We broke their bank. They were very upset."

"No matter! You won't have to waste time with that bent classmate of yours any longer. We'll find you a wife here in Santiago, no need to return to Europe any time soon."

Mickey smiled tightly. "Of course."

"We need grandchildren. We need a dynasty."

_ We need to beat them into submission, you mean. _ Mickey didn't say it out loud.

"Unless, of course, there was a  _ reason _ you spent so much time with that boy."

So he had suspected for some time now. Mickey covered. "That's disgusting, Papa. We got what we wanted from him, and now I don't have to flatter his pathetic ego anymore."

Carlos looked satisfied with that answer and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come! We will have supper as a family."

And the dinner was good as well. It was nice to be back in Chile with the local foods. London lacked flavor. He sat through it, smiled, lied, kissed his mother on the cheek. He waited a day, picked up some nice canvas and drawing supplies for Florence and a book for Edward, talked back only once and got punched only three times for it, and then he went to the bank and moved everything he had access to into different accounts and withdrew enough to live on for three years in currency.

As soon as that was done, he left. He took three separate carriages back to San Antonio to make himself harder to track and immediately booked a cabin on the next boat leaving the port, no matter where it was headed.

"Can't wait to be seasick again," Edward muttered, but he was exaggerating and the book pressed into his hands cheered him up a little.

Florence was grateful for the art supplies but fussed over the marks on his face. They didn't feel the same as usual, though. This time, Mickey thought, they really were the last ones Carlos would ever put there.

Edward kissed around the bruises and cuts on Mickey's cheek that evening, and that wasn't forgiveness, but god, it felt good. For once, he didn't feel the need to shove him away. To keep the wall up. Not that he didn't have walls up right now, but making a door for Edward was the only way to keep both of them going right now. Also, he wanted to. The longer he let himself care and the more he acknowledged the happiness when Edward gave him attention and even better, affection, the less tense, anxious, and angry he felt.

The next run around Cape Horn, Florence didn't wait to be beckoned but climbed right into bed with the men. The ship ended up taking them to Charleston, where they rented a room while considering their next move. They'd given false surnames and told the landlady that Mickey was Florence's brother. That way, whichever of them spent time together, it would still be appropriate.

In the end they spent three months in Charleston, and Edward let Mickey kiss him at least once a week, occasionally for a good long while. Florence presented her worries that what she had thought was a menstrual cycle was not, as she was no longer getting them, and Mickey did not eat for a day.

"What's wrong with you?" Edward asked when he wouldn't go to supper the next day. "You need to eat."

Mickey shook his head. "I can't be a father."

"She's  _ my _ wife," Edward said.

"This thing that we are doing, it doesn't make sense with a child. How do we hide? You won't even share a bed with your wife without me between you, we can't leave her, I can't leave you, I won't, but where can we go?"

Edward traced Mickey's cheekbone with his thumb. The bruises had long since faded. "You're not your father. I'm not mine."

"I can agree with the second part." Honestly reckoning with his problems made him queasy, but he hadn't eaten in too long and it just came out. "All I've ever done is find people I can push around like my father does to me."

"If you don't want to do it, Mickey, don't do it. And if you hit my wife's child, I'll kill you, if that helps."

"I have that to look forward to, at least."

Edward's thumb found its way down to Mickey's lips. "Maybe," he murmured, and Mickey's face betrayed his want. Edward smiled wickedly. "Is this what you felt like before?"

Mickey nodded, his eyes drifting shut. "I think I prefer this side of things now." Maintaining the upper hand in a relationship was a lot of work. Now all he had to do was accept whatever Edward was willing to allow. So he didn't get everything he wanted when he wanted, so what. He hadn't gotten that before either because of his own schemes and plots and fears. At least this way he didn't have to worry about all that.

"Come downstairs and eat."

He still felt ill, but he was able to keep the food down, and it helped.

Three months after they arrived in Charleston, Edward accompanied Florence to the beach so she could draw the shore, as she did quite often now. Mickey found it slightly hilarious that he was finally taking an interest in his wife after all these years, but then, she had never actually demanded attention before.

Mickey had taken a walk to clear his head, humming as he returned to the boarding house. He needed to pick up a hobby like Florence, now that he'd left his life behind and wasn't sleeping around anymore. He idly wondered what had happened with Maisie and Hugh, but he wasn't particularly concerned. The only people who mattered were Edward, Florence, and himself.

And the baby.  _ God, _ the baby.

He was so nervous about the damn baby that he walked straight into some familiar and very unwelcome faces. They were waiting for him just outside the boarding house.

"Mr. Miranda," the shortest one said. "Your father wants a word."

"He can't have one," Mickey snapped. Enough of this. He was not going to live his life running from Carlos Miranda's thugs. "Tell him to go to hell." So he was going to get thrashed. So what. He'd been beaten more times than he could ever keep track of. He was still alive. "Tell him I'm through doing his dirty work." This had to end. He had to keep Carlos far away from his child. Maybe if he stood up for himself for once, Carlos would back down.

The thugs did not seem to think so. "Where is the money?" the small one snarled, not even waiting for an answer before slamming him into the wall.

Mickey slid down it, the wind knocked out of him. Spots swam before his eyes as he tried to catch his breath, but before he could, he took a punch to the cheek. He felt his skin split and gasped in pain. More blows rained down. His face. His gut. His shins. His back when he tried to protect his head. He could take it, but the pain was bad. He tried not to let them hear any sobs. Now that Edward had gotten him to cry again, he did it all too often. A hard strike to his ear had him groaning in pain, but he refused to cry.

There was an ear-piercing scream, and it couldn't be coming from him, could it? "Bandits! Hooligans!" Florence's high voice wailed. "Somebody help!"

The porch floorboards squeaked and the door slammed. Two more kicks and it stopped. Mickey looked up.

"How dare you attack my brother?" Florence yelled, really putting on a show. The boarders adored her. One of them had a shotgun, and four were holding onto the hired attackers.

"Your brother?" the short one said, laughing. "You people don't really believe this. This brat stole our boss's money."

"I think you'd best be leaving," the American boarder with the shotgun said. "Or I'll make you."

Blood dripped from Mickey's mouth. "Tell your boss," he grunted, his stomach aching with every word, "if he wants to extort me again, he can do it himself. Face to face. Alone."

"Mrs. Florence?"

"They've been harassing us for years!" she lamented. "My poor dear brother. We thought we were safe here." Edward let go of her to kneel down by Mickey and look at his wounds.

"You are safe, ma'am. Y'all get out of here." He brandished his gun. "I don't want to see you 'round here ever again."

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," Mickey said, panting. "I'm done with him."

"He won't like that answer, Miranda," the thug said.

"I don't care." He looked at Edward instead. A kiss would be gross but welcome right now. If only.

The landlady, Maureen, had joined the scene by now. "Bring him inside," she ordered Edward. "I'm sure Jack can manage these ruffians."

"Yes ma'am, I sure can," Jack said as the other boarders dragged Miranda's men away.

Everything hurt. Mickey bit his lip against fresh waves of pain as Edward hauled him inside to Maureen's room. She set a blanket over her comfy chair and guided him to it.

"We need to leave," Edward said, cleaning blood off Mickey's face.

It was so strange to let this happen. To want it and to  _ let _ himself want it. After three odd months sharing a bed, a life, and all his secrets, it should be natural to allow Edward past his walls. But every new experience was different. He'd always cleaned himself up before. Even last time, at home, he'd managed it himself, and Edward had only been there later.

His body urged him to lock himself in their room and hide in bed until walking hurt less. But he couldn't be his old self, especially now that he had a child on the way. He couldn't relapse. He had to let Edward and Florence and Maureen fuss over him.

He really, really wanted a nice forehead kiss from Edward. Damned Maureen.

"What was all that?" Maureen asked, pouring spirits on a cloth and giving it to Edward.

"Someone who doesn't want to let me go," Mickey said, and he hissed as Edward disinfected his cheek wound.

"Did they break anything?" Edward asked.

"No," he said, exhausted, and Maureen pressed a glass into his hand.

"Drink, then. Sleep it off."

He put it to his lips and drank. It was strong, probably local corn whiskey moonshine. The pain in his ribs dulled a bit, though the places his skin had split still hurt. "I should go," he said, thinking. The baby and Edward and Florence would be safe if he left them. In theory. But then he would be abandoning them with nothing. If he left them his money, his father would pursue them anyway. Not to mention, while Edward used to bring out the worst in him by virtue of being too easy to manipulate, without him, Mickey might turn back into the callous monster he really was, and then hurt Edward anyway, or steal his child at Carlos's behest.

He'd done worse, hadn't he?

He didn't  _ want _ to leave them.

"Shut up," Edward said, irritated, and Mickey mumbled an automatic  _ lo siento. _ Which was stupid, because Edward wasn't his father, Edward wasn't going to hit him, Edward wasn't…

Mickey was very damaged. Edward was just trying to keep him close, or keep his money close, which was more than fair.

"We'll leave together," Edward said, softer, which was so much more than Mickey deserved.

He nodded and drank the rest of the moonshine. It burned, but it helped. Edward cleaned him up and helped him upstairs to their room. Florence stayed with Jack and Maureen to quietly arrange transportation north.

"I don't want to leave you," Mickey said as Edward pulled his shoes off. "I don't want my father finding you or my...the…" His voice caught.

"You don't get to leave us. You have the money."

"Which you need, but it puts you in danger." He shut his eyes. "I can't fix it."

Edward didn't reply to that, just unbuttoned his vest and shirt to look at the blossoming bruises. He touched the edge of one lightly and Mickey hissed and grabbed his wrist. But Edward was only trying to help, so he loosened his grasp, and Edward slid his hand into Mickey's.

"Sometimes," he said, "I wished my father would hit me. I wished I could know what he thought of me, that it could be so simple. But he didn't think of me at all if he could help it."

"At least he isn't chasing you."

"But I would have his attention." Edward sighed. "It's all past us now." He bent down and kissed Mickey, and it hurt his mouth, but he wanted it anyway. Edward drew back too soon. "Do you think we might have been better if we didn't have to hide?"

Funny thought. Edward, yes. Mickey, no. Probably. "No sé," he mumbled instead of offering that answer.  _ I don't know, _ one of the phrases he'd taught his Eduardo over the years. Edward kissed his forehead.

Florence came upstairs with a bottle of Maureen's arnica tincture, and Edward helped Mickey spread it over his bruises. It seemed to help. Edward slept on the outside of the bed that night, closest to the door.

Mickey jerked awake in the middle of the night. "Shit! They'll tell my father I'm with you."

"I know," Edward slurred, drowsy. "We're leaving in the morning. Go back to sleep."

"Where?"

"Mickey," Florence said from her bed, "go to sleep."

"He'll know about us."

"That's why we're running away. Shh."

They didn't know what they were doing. Florence was a snubbed wife of a disinterested wealthy man. She spent all her time working on her art and tolerating her mother-in-law. Edward was a bored, semi-hedonistic man with a job he was bad at. Escaping from a vindictive parent was not in their skill set. Then again, it was evidently not in Mickey's either, given that he hadn't yet managed it.

Edward rolled over and kissed his shoulder. "Good night," he whispered, and Mickey remembered the rules. Edward was in charge, and he only had to follow.

Fine. He could do that. Even if it didn't keep him safe, it was all he could do now.

Florence had begun to show shortly before they left Charleston for Washington. They bought a house outside the city. New York would have been too risky, but the Capital was less busy. Less chance of Edward's family finding them. As for the Mirandas, Washington seemed as safe as anywhere.

It wasn't a large estate, but there were a few acres, a barn, and space enough from nearby houses. It had four bedrooms, a lovely kitchen--someone was going to need to learn to cook--a dining room, a living room, and a working water closet with a bath. The place had evidently been built for a wealthy man who'd died shortly after its completion, which accounted for the electrical lines and pipes run to it. They weren't so far from the city that this was strikingly unusual, but most of their neighbors appeared not to be so fortunate.

Mickey looked into his finances and realized his money might not pay for servants, and if it could, they might be afraid to have any, to be exposed by them. They would have to get horses and take care of them personally.

"I know how to care for horses," Edward said when Mickey brought it up. "You can learn to cook."

That seemed a fair deal until Mickey discovered it was nearly impossible to get the same kinds of foods in Washington as he'd eaten in Santiago. Still, he purchased some cookbooks and he and Florence explored them together.

They cleaned out the barn and bought some straw from the neighbors to prepare it for horses. The two middle-aged women claimed to be sisters, though they looked nothing alike, and threw in a small bale of hay to welcome their horses when they came.

Edward and Florence purchased two mares, and Mickey picked out the carriage. Florence sewed dresses for herself as her stomach continued to balloon.

Adventure had changed her, as far as Mickey could tell. Adventure or good sex or catching her husband kissing the man she'd slept with only minutes before, or perhaps all three. She was no longer the demure, obedient wife with her little drawing hobby. She made demands of her husband and Mickey. She told them when they were being stupid. She left the house even when her belly was very visible.

Mickey was getting very good at foot rubs. Sometimes Florence would grab his hand and put it on her belly to feel the baby kick. He had no business bringing a human into the world, but there was no choice now. He smiled at her whether he felt it or not.

She was excited. Achy, but excited. For his part, Edward seemed indifferent to the baby. He didn't ignore the pregnancy, but he was neither frightened of it nor particularly thrilled. Margaret and Elsa, the neighbors, recommended a doctor for Florence, and she insisted on going with Edward to meet him in town. Mickey accompanied them to go to the bank. His accounts were stable for now, and difficult to trace since he'd moved things multiple times after landing in North America.

His next stop was a general store where he stocked up on food, packing the carriage full. Living out of town with no servants was a lot of work and involved a lot of planning. The doctor visit was still ongoing, it appeared, so Mickey took a walk around the block and ran straight into Nora, Hugh Pilaster's ex-wife and professional singer. Because these days he just had unbelievably terrible luck. She clocked him instantly and struck up a conversation.

"I thought you lived in New York," he said, continuing to walk. Staying still made him nervous.

"I may yet return," she said cheerfully. "I needed a change. What in the world brings you to America, Mr. Miranda? I thought your family lived in Chile."

"Passing through," he lied, trying to figure out what to do. They'd already bought a house. The last thing they needed was to be found out by a friend of the Pilasters.

"Business, I presume."

"Business," he agreed.

"And how are Mr. and Mrs. Edward--oh!" As they approached the doctor's door, Edward and Florence came out. "You're all...here." Her eyes flicked down to Florence's belly. "My goodness. It's lovely to see you again, Mrs. Pilaster."

"Nora," Florence said, surprised. "I didn't know you were in Washington."

"For the moment, I am," she said. "Is your mother-in-law with you?"

"She and my mother are in London with Clara."

"Ah, so you're alone? Well, I would hate to impose, but perhaps I could call on you someday soon, or if you need anything, a woman to talk to."

"We could call on you," Mickey countered.

"Of course, I would be delighted. In your condition, Mrs. Pilaster, I would be happy to make the journey, only let me know." She offered Mickey a card. "I live here. I usually work evenings."

"Thank you," Florence said, and she pressed her hand against her back. "I think we should get home."

Edward helped her into the carriage and Mickey shut the door for them. As he climbed up and took the reins, Nora said, "You're here all alone, aren't you? The three of you."

"Business," Mickey said.

"Right, business. I am a singer, Mr. Miranda. A performer. I have plenty of friends of all sorts. I would very much like to spend some time with Florence. I would hate for her to be alone without any other women in her life. I assure you I have no intention of causing problems for your family."

_ Family. _ Funny way of putting it. "I'll let her know," he said, and he lightly lashed the reins to urge the horses forward.

"Nora knows something is strange about us," Mickey said that night, massaging Florence's feet.

"She knew you were the father," Florence yawned.

"Why would she know that?"

"Because my mother and mother-in-law made her uncomfortable by talking about Edward's lack of interest in me."

"An exciting conversational topic, to be sure," Mickey said.

"It was excruciating. Do you know," she said as Edward came inside, "I'm quite relieved that Augusta won't be living in the same house as my child."

"Parents are a nightmare," he said, unable to look at her. They were about to be that nightmare.

"The doctor we saw was lovely."

"He's a queer," Edward said.

That was good. Probably. "That doesn't make him trustworthy," Mickey pointed out.

"He's not you," Edward said. "He has nothing to gain from us. Besides, Meg and Elsa trust him."

That was true. The neighbors seemed safe enough, and they talked over the fence quite a bit, mostly with Edward.

"And if he fucks us, kill him."

"Then we'd have to move," Florence complained.

"I was afraid Nora would ruin us," Mickey admitted. "But she seems to have it in her head that I'm the father, and...I'm not sure what else. She said she didn't want to cause us problems. Oh, she did want to make sure you had women in your life."

"Nora is nice," Florence conceded, and Mickey knew she was thinking about Augusta and her mother.

Nora did come over and she and Florence became fast friends. Edward was freer with his affections now and even occasionally slept with Mickey. Once, when Florence was feeling lonely and achy, Edward pointed out, with a wicked smile on his face, that Mickey had started this, and he owed her, which was how he ended up with his face between her thighs and Edward pressed inside him.

Relinquishing control like this during sex was something of a revelation. When he slept with men like this, he almost always spread his legs for them, because they wanted it that way and it was easier to get what he wanted if he wasn't wasting time persuading them of the joys of getting fucked in the ass. He also liked it. However, with others, and with Edward the first time (though it hadn't gone quite that far then--he'd squeezed Edward between his thighs and enjoyed the friction against his hole then), he'd been careful to hold the power, to complain they were doing it wrong, to roll over and ride them, whatever it took to let them know he could take this moment from that if he wanted.

He still could, any of them could, but he wasn't going to, and he didn't want them to either.

He did wonder what Edward was getting out of this. Florence's soft gasps and gentle fingers in his hair were an obvious answer for her, but Edward had never shown any interest in women at all. He fucked Mickey slowly, with long, deep strokes that had him whimpering against Florence's folds, but Edward could have him like this any time he wanted. Maybe it was just the pleasure of seeing Mickey spread out, subordinate to both of them. Then Edward put a hand on Mickey's back and pushed him against Florence. He tried to get his tongue inside her but Edward sped up his thrusts, pounding him hard and fast and her fingers tightened, pulling on his hair, dragging him up.

He obeyed, getting his lips around her nub and sucking hard, trying to survive the intensity of the pounding he was taking. There were noises in his throat. He didn't care. Florence let out desperate moans and ground herself against him. He welcomed it. They were taking their pleasure from him and maybe that would be his future, as their pet, they could use him however they wanted. She whined, high but quiet, her legs shook, and she was gone.

He pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs. Awkward ones, as Edward's hips were still driving against his ass and his cock was not small and he was hitting good spots... _ fuck. _ "Good boy," Edward said, and that was new. He wasn't a good boy, not at all. It still warmed Mickey's bits and stomach and maybe his icy heart to hear it. Then Edward grabbed his dick and started pumping and  _ oh _ he hadn't realized how close he was. It surged through him like a rogue wave, and he came, trembling, gasping, Florence's fingers carding through his hair. Edward sped up even more against his clenching ass, and as Mickey came back down, he spilled inside him with a sigh. Florence dozed off without even moving while the men traded kisses and giggles.

They didn't want him as a pet. They just wanted him.

It shouldn't have taken so long to accept Edward's affection.

Learning to live on their own was a humbling experience and in the end, Florence trotted over to Meg and Elsa's and begged for help, which they were happy to offer. They taught their neighbors how to cook and sew and clean and garden and patch a roof, and in return, Florence made the men help with their livestock.

Then one afternoon, Florence leaked water all over the floor and Mickey saddled a mare to go get the doctor. "I'm all right, I'm all right," she said. "I don't think anything is happening yet."

Elsa waved at Mickey as he mounted Foxglove. "What's the hurry?"

"The baby's coming!" he said, kicking the mare into a trot, then a gallop. This was really happening. He'd made a baby and now it was coming out and it would take  _ ages _ to get to the doctor, god, what was he doing, he needed to run right now, run for good, get the hell out of town and away from this innocent child he was bound to hurt.

He didn't, of course. He reached the doctor's clinic and brought him back to Florence. Meg and Elsa had already piled up pillows and sheets for her, boiled water, and were in the process of shooing Edward out.

"He should stay," the doctor said, bending down to check on Florence. "It's good for a man to see what his wife goes through to bring him a child. The friend should go. This is a private thing for the lady, my good sir."

He should say something, but he was grateful for the excuse.

"Just go," Florence groaned, so Mickey sat in the living room. Waiting. Waiting for his fate to be sealed, waiting to face tangible proof that he had to run away from this forever.

He saw his father's face. His mother's. Augusta's. Seth's. He sat alone, fear consuming him for minutes? Hours? He didn't know. He was shaken out of it by a scream. Was she in danger? Was this normal?

"Where is he!" she yelled. "Get in here!"

He tentatively rose.

"The bastard who did this to meee--ah!" she shouted, ending in a shriek of pain. "I'm going to kill you! Where are you!"

That sounded like a summons, but he waited until Meg popped her head out. "Well, get in here, then."

He obeyed. Florence was sweating terribly, her face red and screwed up in agony. "I hate you!" she yelled as he touched her hand. She squeezed hard enough to bruise. She was just in pain, he told himself. She didn't hate him.

It was hard to believe that even now.

"Push...now!" the doctor shouted.

She screamed, dug her nails into Mickey's hand, and pushed.

"Good girl. One more good one, when you feel it."

She cried out.

"That's it, now _push_."

"Fuck you!" she shouted, gritting her teeth and groaning loudly and suddenly...there it was.

There was a brand new human in the doctor's hands.

"It's a girl," Elsa murmured as she began cleaning the baby off. The little one was quiet. Mickey could only stare.

Florence let out a long breath and whimpered.

"Try harder, Papa," Meg suggested, shoving a wet handkerchief into his free hand.

Right. Florence. He pressed the cool fabric to her forehead and cheeks. "My baby," she whispered, and then she groaned again.

"Afterbirth still needs to come out," the doctor said. "When the contractions come, push, just like before."

"I know," she growled, then she yelled again and pushed until it came out, and Florence let out a long breath. "Give me my baby," she said, but her voice was sleepy, exhausted. The doctor cut the umbilical cord and tied it up, and then Elsa carefully placed the baby in Florence's arms.

Her eyes were big, round, and green. She stared at her mother, then at her father, then gurgled and began to cry. Florence rocked her and she quieted.

Edward was the first to say it. "She looks like you." But there was a surprisingly fondness in his tone.

"She looks like both of you," Meg said.

Florence was wearing a nightdress with an open front, and the doctor advised her to set the little one on her bare chest and see if she was hungry.

She latched on quickly, and Meg elbowed Mickey until he remembered to press the damp cloth to Florence's sweaty forehead. Edward whispered in his ear, "Now what?"

"We have a daughter," Mickey breathed, still staring at her.

She finished feeding and Florence closed her eyes and held the baby out to Mickey.

He was terrified to touch her. Terrified to make it real.

Meg poked him again. As carefully as he could, he took her into his arms, supporting her little head. She stared up at him. She didn't cry.

_ You're not your father. _

She smiled.

Oh.

They named her Sylvia, a new name, not one in any of their families, because Florence liked the sound of it. They shared a room for months, taking turns being the one to get up and rock Sylvie or bring her to Florence for milk. Even Edward and Mickey didn't get a chance to know each other biblically for ages. Nora visited often during the day.

After the first week, Mickey was less afraid of himself. Something inside him that he thought was broken had started patching itself back together, and every time he looked at Sylvia, it healed some more.

He loved her, and because he loved her, the emptiness inside him receded. Edward (and Florence, to be honest) had been beating it back, but now he couldn't hide from the terrifying truth that he was still a whole person and he'd always had the capacity for deep feeling. Because he loved her, his feelings for Edward made more sense. Where before, he'd been frightened to lose the one person he cared about at all, now he'd catch Edward's eye and feel warm, feel not just fear and interest, but something bigger, something like what he felt for Sylvia.

He even had some of those feelings for Florence.

He was starting to like it.

Sylvie didn't want to be fed, so Mickey took her into the living room and rocked her and hummed songs he'd heard in bordellos until she quieted down after nearly an hour. He held his breath as he tucked her back into the bassinet, but she stayed asleep. Back to bed. Back to Edward's arms. A little kiss on his forehead and he dozed back off.

The little one had a cradle, but she spent most of her time in the arms of her family and friends. When Edward wasn't dealing with the barn or learning, god forbid, to plant things, he was usually holding Sylvia. It was good to see him find something to devote himself to, even if it was the child of his wife and lover.

Even with three of them and regular visits from Nora, Meg, and Elsa, sleep was a luxury. Florence had the worst of it, naturally, since she was the only one who could feed Sylvia, but they all walked around with bags under their eyes. Not having a staff made life a lot harder.

After nearly eight months, Sylvia usually slept the whole night, and they weren't under water anymore. Florence decided she wanted her own room and made the men move the bed.

Nora spent the night there three times that week. It was a strange little family they had. Meg and Elsa cooked dinner sometimes and in return they did some field work for them. Mickey toyed with the idea of marrying Nora, but it felt too final. Officially, Sylvia was Edward's child, and that meant Mickey could run if he had to.

His father still hadn't found him, and wasn't that interesting? Either he had found a good place to hide, or Carlos was busy. Or he didn't care anymore. Mickey wasn't sure what to think. He punched hay bales in his spare time, just in case.

Sylvia grew fast. She sat up and crawled and babbled nonsense and Mickey adored her. He sang her songs from home, teaching her Spanish and English. He felt less broken when she laughed at him. She learned to walk. She called Florence Mama and Edward Dada, and was working on Padre and No-ra, though she wasn't very good at saying R sounds yet. She was nearly a year and a half when Mickey found himself staring at Edward, the man he'd given up his world for, the man he couldn't escape, the man who was rocking a sleepy little girl in his arms.

"I love you," he said, surprising himself.

"Yes," Edward said with a smile, still looking down at Sylvia. It wasn't such a big thing after all. Mickey always wanted to make everything so dramatic, and now...it wasn't. It was quiet. It was warm. It was two messed up boys holding each other at night and feeding and changing and playing with their daughter during the day. It was forgiveness he could never earn being given anyway because they wanted each other, wanted to shed the damage done by their parents. It was knowing he could run away from this but he never would.

It was Florence watching Nora sing and Nora gushing over her art. It was Meg and Elsa seeing three stupid runaways in over their heads and caring for their new neighbor as she tried to push a baby out of her.

It was a monstrous, cold-hearted, manipulative, cruel, broken man realizing what he couldn't live with and saying, finally, no more.

Sylvia was asleep now. Edward looked up at last and met Mickey's gaze. "I love you too."


End file.
